


There's a time, a place, and a face for us

by orphan_account



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos has many faces, Carlos lives many lives before he is ready to meet Cecil, M/M, Time in Night Vale does not correlate with time outside of Night Vale, and Cecil is one of the poor children who is destined to suffer in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time and love in Night Vale don't work quite the same as anywhere else.<br/>Carlos lives a lot of lives during the time of Cecil's singular life and they occasionally cross paths.<br/>While it's love at first sight for Cecil, Carlos has many lives to live before he's ready to love the voice of Night Vale back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a time, a place, and a face for us

The first time Cecil saw Carlos, Cecil was a baby. 

He was in a stroller and being walked to ensure that the dormant evil spirit who resided above his crib didn’t decide to latch onto him as it was likely to do if he was not exposed to fresh air. It was a decent routine and he appreciated it, even if his nanny was prone to leaking some form of red ectoplasm onto his head. 

Cecil may have been a baby but his brain was relatively well developed. He was more than aware that head-based ectoplasm was not to be desired unless it was formed within one’s own head. Regardless, what presented itself as the sun for the day was shining and there did not appear to be any omni-present beings on the hunt for infants, so it seemed to be a good day. 

It had been uneventful, too, until an out-of-town vehicle pulled up at the sidewalk and promptly burped up a cloud of black smoke very close by Cecil, who sat up to discern what had made the noise. Cecil was intelligent enough already to know that the rest of the country had been wrapped up in the business of a war and that they were all suffering from a change in circumstances as a result, though no such changes had occurred in Night Vale. However, the family who got out of the car appeared to be excessively rich, dressed in fine- if dull- clothes. Cecil watched them with the curiosity of an abnormally intelligent baby, fiddling with the voodoo doll he’d been given the day of his birth. 

Carlos was not Carlos the first time that Cecil saw him. Carlos was a pompous round white man in a perfectly-cut rich blue suit with his hair slicked back and shining. When the man turned back to assess the damage to his car Cecil first caught a glimpse of his face and that was it for Cecil; he was doomed. 

The sensation was not dissimilar to the sensation of being dropped on his head, which Cecil had naturally been routinely subjected to every month to ensure that he didn’t contract blood lice. He was transfixed by the man’s eyes- a deep, rich brown- and he could feel himself latching onto the soul inside the frankly unfortunate mass of man in front of him. The man was somewhat revolting but the new soul inside of him was the most beautiful thing Cecil had ever encountered. Cecil beamed, wriggling happily where he sat, and allowed himself to bask in the undiluted joy of latching with another soul. It wasn’t ready for it yet and would likely not be for a long time, but Cecil knew now that he was destined to love it when it was. The man smiled at him, briefly, and that was the last Cecil saw of him as a blanket was draped over his head by his nanny, who grunted a series of profanities and began to push Cecil home.

That night Cecil screamed as he’d never screamed before and his mother was called in to calm him. She understood immediately and picked him up by the leg, swinging him gently. Cecil took no comfort in his mother calling him her poor dear boy. To find his perfect soul so young was ensured torture. 

 

The next time Cecil saw Carlos, Cecil was seven.

He had dreamt about Carlos every night. The perfect, unfurling, pure soul he saw behind those eyes was all he could concentrate on. It distracted him from everything he tried to do and the sympathy his mother had initially felt ran out rather quickly. She taught him to express himself with coloured inks on pages. Cecil was never without a paintbrush. Every surface of his room had a picture of Carlos in a variety of colours, though the predominant colours used seemed to be an icy blue with darker flecks. That was how Cecil remembered it. Perfect.

He hadn’t been signed up to be a scout, unlike most boys his age, and Cecil found that he was rather excluded from his peers- more so than usual. None of the other children had found a soul. It was doubtful that they ever would. Steve Carlsberg pushed him over out of jealousy, once. Cecil had declared Steve Carlsberg his mortal enemy. Steve Carlsberg had called him a ‘poo’. It was war. 

With nothing to do Cecil had taken to wandering the streets, old enough to no longer require a nanny- at least in Night Vale- and young enough not to attract any unwanted attention. He was slowly becoming an expert on his own humble burg and had high hopes of somehow utilising that in the future. 

It was Cecil’s wandering that led him to seeing Carlos again. Though, of course, Carlos was not Carlos. Neither of them were ready for that, yet. Carlos appeared in the form of a girl not too many years older than him. Carlos’ hair was pulled back into a light, puffy ponytail and his light blue dress offset his gorgeous ebony skin in such a way that Cecil was captivated before he even recognised Carlos. Cecil wasn’t into girls just as he wasn’t into boys. He was into being an outstanding citizen and trying to befriend the occasional glowing cloud that passed through, but he appreciated a pretty face. 

Cecil stopped in his tracks to watch the girl and her mother dip into Big Rico’s for a slice and beamed as she turned to look at him. The soul sucked him in immediately, and Cecil couldn’t restrain a small squawk at the sensation. He hadn’t expected to run into Carlos again so soon. Cecil escaped as quickly as he could allow himself to, running into the park and ducking into some bushes. He curled up and basked in to comfort of latching onto the soul again; the love and warmth he had felt from it was extremely powerful, and it made him lightheaded. The soul wasn’t ready for him, and nor was he for it, but they recognised each other. That was enough to live with for now. 

 

It was eight years later when Cecil next saw Carlos. 

Cecil was fifteen and far too tall and Carlos was an eighteen year old girl with skin and hair whiter than any Cecil had ever seen. Carlos had arrived with a small group of college journalists on their way to Desert Bluffs- the fools- and caught Cecil’s eye as they waited for a taxi. Being taken so by surprise had Cecil flailing his awkward limbs, dropping his shopping bags. Cecil was plagued with a crop of ugly teenage tattoos in the shapes of stars and bunnies- an unfortunate affliction that he should grow out of and into a set of tasteful tattoos- and they made him hideously embarrassed. More so that Carlos was seeing them. He hadn’t recognised the eyes on the girl immediately because they were hidden behind some tinted glasses. 

However, the second he realised Cecil was taken in by the force of the love the soul showed him. There was a vast difference to what he was younger, and Cecil was fairly certain that Carlos’ soul was ready. Maybe. Probably. No, not yet. The soul was twisting and turning, a light pink now, tendrils unfurling in Cecil’s direction. But it wasn’t quite ready. Cecil swore under his breath and dropped to his knees, scrambling to pick up his shopping. By the time he looked up, Carlos was gone. 

Life after that meeting became uneventful- at least for Night Vale- and Cecil did not see Carlos again for a very long time. That his perfect soul had at one point been a journalist had embedded itself in Cecil’s subconscious and he found himself majoring in Literature and Media and applying to be the voice of Night Vale. Within a year, Cecil had his own slot in the radio-sphere and a small following. Within another year, Cecil’s voice broke- surprising everyone who knew him- and his followers grew in number almost overnight. It gave Cecil great pride to be recognised on the street for his shows, and he slowly but surely lost faith in Carlos ever returning. 

 

It took another seventeen years for Carlos to return. 

At thirty two Cecil still vibrated with excitement that new people were coming to the town. Scientists. A whole gaggle of them! Cecil naturally made it his journalistic duty to go and spy on them- he was sure that the City Council would approve of any spying- and even from a fair distance he could feel his connection to his perfect soul beginning to reform. He scanned each and every one of them, and finally came across its leader. And Cecil very nearly collapsed on his face inside the bush he was spying from. They were ready. It was ready. Cecil could see the soul in the man’s eyes, a gorgeous, perfect rich purple soul reaching to him with its tendrils. It was ready for him. 

Looking down, Cecil found that his previously nondescript-yet-vaguely-Aztec tattoos were turning from their golds and blues to the same purple as Carlos’ soul and began to shift into the shape of the soul’s tendrils. Cecil shivered despite the heavy, thick heat of the day and waited for the group to move on before exiting the bush. 

It was love, though not quite at first sight. Cecil liked to vent on air but managed to restrain himself more than usual while getting to know Carlos. He was fairly certain that Carlos might feel some strange sense of deja vu around him but there was no chance that Carlos would be aware of their connection- if it could be called a connection. That might imply that it worked both ways. Carlos would have to warm to Cecil like a normal person.

 

Cecil finally did not have to wait long. 

Carlos seemed to slowly become aware of something between them- whether or not he knew of any actual connection. He accepted a date and, as it came to a close they sat in Cecil’s car as it idled outside of Carlos’ lab. 

“Well,” Carlos pointed to his lab, “This is me.”

Incapable of providing a more interesting answer and impossibly lost in Carlos’ eyes again, Cecil said, “Uh-huh.” 

“I should probably do something about this buzzing shadow-thing,” Carlos continued, tapping his fingers on his leg and looking away. Cecil thought his heart might break but concentrated on what Carlos was saying, “A few experiments, to see if I can save the town.”

Sensing an opportunity, Cecil smiled hopefully, “Oh? Do you need any help with that?”

Carlos shook his head, “No, a scientist is self-reliant. It’s the first thing a scientist is,” and Cecil’s smile fell. 

He couldn’t help but feel utterly, hopelessly broken. He was sick of waiting. Cecil wanted Carlos to understand that there was something deeply upsetting about Cecil having pined for years over Carlos, and yet Carlos still didn’t feel a thing for him other than a slightly awkward friendship. 

“Oh,” Cecil replied, looking down at the steering wheel and wishing that Carlos would leave and stop confusing him. Carlos’ soul was sending him waves upon waves of love and comfort but Carlos himself seemed abnormally distant. 

Of course, Carlos had to kiss him. Nothing ever went as Cecil expected it to. Carlos’ fingers pressed lightly into Cecil’s jaw to turn his head and the kiss was gentle and awkward and lingered a little too long. Carlos’ fingers quivered slightly, his stubble scratching Cecil’s chin just a little too much, and his eyelashes tickled Cecil’s cheek. But it was enough. Cecil sighed quietly, content, eyes fluttering closed, and Carlos pulled away. 

He was gone before Cecil could even bid him good night. Cecil sat in the car for a long moment and stared after him, grinning stupidly. His tattoos wriggled happily, proudly, and he could almost hear Carlos’ soul singing just as happily. Or perhaps he was imagining it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The malevolent buzzing shadow no longer mattered. Cecil no longer had to pine for Carlos. Thirty two years of pining had led to Carlos’ reciprocation and he’d happily spend another thirty two years waiting if it meant that Carlos would feel as strongly for Cecil as Cecil felt for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only on the 8th Night Vale podcast so if I got some canon wrong I sincerely apologise. And I also apologise for the pretentiousness of this plot.


End file.
